


A Story in a Great Many Parts

by Twilit



Category: Pokemon GO
Genre: Abuse, F/F, F/M, Multi, Non-binary character, Orphans, Slow Burn, Trans Character, may turn explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7918468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twilit/pseuds/Twilit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are legends, the leaders of the Three Free Teams. Three young trainers, rising out of their own conflict to front organizations that would advance society's understanding of pokemon and training by decades, guided by Professor Willow, but spurred on by...  </p><p>Well. That would be telling. But rest assured there will be passion, adventure, and action ahead!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone’s university age, I can’t into science, and this is some world that exists as a mash-up of Earth and whatever world Pokemon is set and also pokemon aren’t going to play a huge role in this if any because welcome to 
> 
> I DON’T EVEN PLAY THIS FUCKING GAME REDUX EDITION

Professor WIllow hasn’t stopped checking his watch and it is starting to rouse Blanche’s suspicions, even as their report winds down.

“...and that concludes the findings from phase one of the initial sampling.”

“Thank you Blanche,” Professor Willow smiled at them and unfolded his arms to pick up the tablet in front of him. “And thank you, Candela, for doing the majority of the leg work.”

“Hey, no prob doc. Anything that let’s me slap more field work on my resume is ok by me.” Her broad smile was full and earnest.

“And getting you out of the office in the last days of summer doesn’t hurt either,” Blanche murmurs. Candela winks at them in acknowledgement.

At that moment, the administrative assistant sticks her head into the room.

“Student here to see you, Professor, says you’re expecting him.”

“Ah! Finally! Send him in, thanks.”

While the admin assistant goes back to the front desk, Willow continues, “Well, good news reached me the other day. My request for additional funding came through, and so I could finally hire that third research assistant!”

“Hey, awesome!”

“That’s wonderful news, Professor.”

“So last week I held the final interviews and this is the young man who managed to get through them all, somehow!”

He moves to the door to hold it open and a breathless blonde manages to stumble in. 

“Sorry I’m late, Professor. I had to clean up a spill at the Sub Shack.”

“That’s quite alright, Spark. Candela, Blanche, this is-”

“YOU-!” Candela slams her hands on the table as she rises, glaring at the confused student before recognition flits across his face.

* * *

_Earlier_

The crowds parted before Candela as she walked with Blanche up the massive stone stairs of the university. It wasn’t like she took excessive pride in the healthy respect being the campus’ lead pokemon trainer, but if it let her and Blanche make it to their meeting with the professor on time, she wasn’t going to let it stop her.

“...so next semester I should be able to split it between the last of my coursework and the professor’s field studies, which will handily double as research for my dissertation!”

“Look at you, putting an actionable plan into place and executing it,” teased the smaller of the two.

“Ehm took me long enough-”

“-clearthewaylookoutcomingthroughohgodw _hhhhhhhhups!_ ” 

Candela’s head whipped around at the rapidly approaching noise of someone careening down the stair and her world immediately slowed to a crawl. A boy about her size was mid-flail down the stairs, about to slam into her and Blanche. Immediately, she dropped the tablet, hands out, ready to catch him and more importantly protect Blanche.

But the boy had other ideas. At the last minute, he got a foot under him, and _launched_ himself into the air, his momentum taking him clean over the woman’s head. The world sped up in time for Candela to feel his hand slap onto her shoulder and him use her as a springboard. She spun in outrage, but he was already running, yelling over his shoulder,

“Sorry! I’m sorry! Need to get to work, sorry!”

While Candela gaped and tried to work some semblance of outcry through her affront, Blanche held out the tablet, retrieved from the ground.

“Nice flip.”

* * *

“-reckless running through crowds, what do you think we are, obstacles in a parkour course?!”

“Ahaha, yeah, sorry, I just had questions for a professor after class and realized that I was gonna be late to work and had to book it, so… uh yeah.”

He has the decency to look properly abashed.

“And this guy somehow managed to pass the interviews, Professor?!”

“Candela.” Blanche’s hand rests lightly on Candela’s hand. They look down at her seat and back up to Candela’s hazel eyes expectantly.

Candela slinks back into her chair, sulking.

“Thank you, Blanche,” Professor Willow says, smiling wryly. “So I see you’ve already incurred our Candela’s legendary wrath, Spark. Lucky for you it passes pretty quickly!”

* * *

It in no way whatsoever passes quickly for Spark.

* * *

“Well. I’m not usually the one to do this, but it seems in the interests of moving forward, I’ll break the ice.”

The professor has left them to their own devices in the meeting room, since it isn’t booked for another hour or so. Blanche rises slightly and leans over to offer Spark a hand.

“I’m Blanche. This is Candela. Welcome to Professor WIllow’s team.”

“Yeah, welcome to the single most ambitious, underfunded and important research team in the entire university, kid,” Candela says, crossing her arms as the others shake hands. “Hope you like to work.”

“Well, it’s pretty much second nature to me at this point, so yeah, I’m down for anything the professor throws at me!”

“Really. What’s your major? I don’t think I’ve seen you in the science building before.”

“Oh, well, I, uh, haven’t decided on one yet.”

A pause. Blanche’s hands just lifted to her ears in anticipation.

“WHAT?! You’re a goddamn first year?!”

“Second, actually, heheh.”

“How the hell have you not declared a major yet? How the hell did you pass the RA interviews? How the hell did Elena even let your application _get_ to the Professor?”

“Oh, I just handed it to him myself. And I’ve _declared_ as a Visual Arts major. But that’s just because it's easy and I need to get my grades back up so I can get my scholarship back.”

Candela is now halfway between shock and anger, slumped back into her chair, arms dangling loosely at her sides. Blanche takes up the interrogation, which she has to admit Spark is handling pretty well.

“I don’t understand. Candela is working on her evolutionary biology MA so she fits right in, I’m statistics and data analysis which this project desperately needs, but what does the professor need an Arts student for?”

“A gopher,” mutters Candela.

“A gopher,” grins Spark, startling Candela. “Oh, and I do graphic and web design. Data visualization and modelling. Some programming, too. I’m a pretty decent electrician and handyman, that’s what I did before uni. I’ve also got first aid training, for humans and pokemon. And people just seem to like me, which means I give killer presentations. Aced that communications course.”

“Everyone aces communications.”

“Not one-hundred percent aces.”

Blanche and Candela’s eyebrows go up.

“Alright, so you’re a jack-of-all trades. And at least you’ve got some pokemon knowledge, if you’ve got the first aid training,” Candela acknowledges. “But still, a second year? How old are you?”

“Yeah, I’m twenty-five.”

Blinks.

“Look, I thought I had to save up, ok? The city isn’t exactly cheap to live in either. Wasn’t really expecting the scholarship thing to work out. And hey, it didn’t!”

“What did you even get in your first year, then?”

“Uh, two point five.”

Candela’s head hits the desk and Blanche raises a single eyebrow.

“Master of none, indeed,” she says quietly. Candela continues to bang her head off the table before whipping her head up and glaring up at Spark.

“You’d better be a goddamn pokemon master to boot.”

“Well…”

Blanche freezes, eyes widening and Candela goes very, very still. There is suddenly a very different atmosphere in the room and if it’s a nickname, Blanche can see where “Spark” came from. The very air is electric and she can see the effect it is having on dark girl. Nostrils widening, eyes focusing, nails slowly scraping along the surface of the table. Spark’s eyes dance and the smile is gone from his face, now so solemn as to still the surf and roil of the ocean. Blanche can almost feel the challenge building in the air.

And then...

“...no. But I will be someday!”

The great breath that Candela has been inhaling gets let out all at once in a huff and she throws up her hands.

“Sure thing, dude. Whatever. Keep your delusions, so long as you do work.”

“So, what pokemon do you have?” Blanche asks, redirecting the antagonistic conversation.

“Oh only a few dozen. I’ve got a few eggs on the go too, in incubators I built at home.”

“You built your own incubators?” Blanche asks. Maybe this one isn’t entirely the loss Candela is intent on believing him.

“Yeah, some of the more basic older models. Managed to scrounge the parts and assemble them. Work like a charm. Wish I had better monitoring though.”

“Well, you’ll have plenty time to figure out how you want to implement that while you’re here. Egg monitoring is a solid quarter of what we do.”

“So got a favourite pokemon?” Candela interjects, clearly taking her partner’s hint to ease up.

“Well… I kinda don’t wanna say yes, but yeah. Joey comes with me everywhere.”

“Well, let’s see him already.”

“Uh, are we allowed…?”

“Sure, the room’s under Professor Willow’s name, so long as we don’t make a mess, any place that’s his is considered a gym.”

“Huh, that’s pretty cool.” Spark takes out a scuffed and worn pokeball. The red and black and flaking off to show the white beneath, but what remains gleams with use. A press of the button and a flash of light and a jolteon manifests on the table. 

Candela snorts and Blanche actually gives a smile. They both take out pokeballs and release their own, a flareon and vaporeon flashing out onto the table. Spark grins and pets the back of his jolteon, easing its nerves.

“Hey, we match!”

“The good Professor has a sense of humour.”

“Not sure if it is actual humour, but my father’s sense of… cosmic irony, I suppose? is pretty strong.”

“Oh what,” blinks Spark. “Professor Willow is your dad? I didn’t know that.”

Blanche shrugs. “It’s not advertised, but you should probably know that it comes up in reviews. Nepotism, and all that.”

“Sure, gotcha.”

“It comes up, and we squash it. Blanche is a publishing academic already outside this project so if anyone still believes they’re not suited, someone’s got a case of rectal recursion.”

“Rectal-? Ha! I’m gonna steal that.” 

The eveelutions are slowly getting to know one another, Samba taking the lead in sniffing at Joey. Blanche’s vaporeon is understandably more cautious, but the jolteon is well-trained and doesn’t bother Cube until approached. Samba’s opinion of the jolteon is pretty clear though and she bumps her head forcefully into his nose. You can see the jolteon perk up and spring to all fours, totally ready to play. 

When the time’s coming up, Candela is marginally less hostile towards Spark, trusting in Samba’s opinion of the male, who she lets pet her. Blanche even gives Joey some scritches, but catches sight of a blinking on her smartwatch. Tapping the screen, her eyes widen, and she’s silent as they file out.

* * *

“I can’t believe the professor really chose an _undergrad_ , but I guess we’re just gonna have to wait and see how he screws up.”

“Mmm.”

“At least he doesn’t seem to have a huge collection. Little brat, thinking he’s gonna be a master with a few dozen pokemon.”

“He’s a year older than us, Candela.”

“Whatever, he still screams ‘brat.’ And he’s still not gonna make master, at least before me.”

“About that…”

“Hmm?”

Blanche transfers the data from the smartwatch to the tablet and looks up at their girlfriend.

“My scanner alerted me when I was petting Joey…”

“Alerted you to what?”

They hand over the tablet.

“That jolteon registered as level ninety-nine.”

It’s Candela’s turn for wide eyes.

“Holy shit.”

“Basically.”

“Holy shit.”

“That is, in fact, the statement that I am affirming.”

“Who the fuck is this kid?” Candela seethes.


	2. Chapter 2

Candela wakes up early. She never got out of the habit after years of having to travel hours to get to school. So when dawn breaks, she's up, had a run and a shower and is making coffee before Blanche even manages to slither out of bed in the morning. The coffee is important, because without it, they're less Blanche and more Blanka and that's no fun.

Blanche makes up for the late start by spinning up very rapidly after their initial coffee and is usually the one striding out of Candela's apartment. They're a starkly efficient whirlwind for a few hours until the rush of caffeine is over, at which point they're just starkly efficient. It is incredibly intimidating for the student they TA, as well as their fellow RAs.

Candela is too busy trying to get her coursework out of the way to worry about other jobs, but during those courses she's no less intimidating, a fiercely focused and a passionate in discussion and labs. Truth be told, her professors are mildly scared of her, which is only mitigated by Willow's gentle chiding that in years past they'd been wishing for more engaged students.

Spark, on the other hand, is pretty much everything his fellow TAs aren't. Were it not for the schedule imposed by classes, his day would be a chaotic, whimsical mess, starting with checking up on all his pokemon, surfing the internet and barely remembering when he had work. As it is, he still has to check up on all his pokemon, which involves faceplanting out of bed pretty early, then showering and shoving toast in his mouth while still pulling on pants on his way out of his tiny, tiny closet of an apartment. There's a lot of undignified hopping.

It's a goddamn miracle he gets anywhere even remotely on time. 

Classes for him range from boring to easy, and half the time he's got some code up on his laptop that needs to be delivered for a client by a deadline that only fuzzily registers, getting clearer the closer it gets. Myopic scheduling is a good way to describe Spark's life.

Hectic is another.

* * *

After the first time he nearly runs them over, it's much easier to spot Spark on campus. Black and yellow clothing moving at speed is a pretty big giveaway.

And he seems to be everywhere, and to know everyone.

He has two jobs on top of his RA work, both in fast food. He flirts with the people in security and IT constantly and is on good terms with physical plant, which comes in really handy the first time the incubators go on the fritz. A quick loaner of some equipment and some time spent in goggles and behind an oxyacetylene torch and they're back up.

Candela has to grind out some respect after that.

* * *

It's quickly tossed back out when they find him in the lab with a canvases and an easel at eight am, paints and McDonald’s strewn about.

“What are you doing, Spark?”

“Mah ashignmentsh,” he says, paintbrush in his mouth.

“Can’t you do those… elsewhere?” Candela asks, testily.

“Yah, ud,” he spits out the paintbrush and catches it, “Yeah, but I’m still on monitoring duty and these things are due today. So I figured two birds with one stone!”

He gestures to the completed canvases. Blanche picks one up, holds it at arms’ length. An egg in an incubator. The rest are similar, except for the first, which describes a single charmander, head poking out of an egg.

“These are pretty goo- wait, an egg hatched?!” They whirl on Spark.

“Yeah, he’s in the hotbox, tearing through the meat over there.”

“And you didn’t call us?!”

“I was only supposed to call the professor! And I did! He said ‘good work’ and everything!”

Candela and Blanche look at each other. “But, then why didn’t he say…”

Blanche plants the heel of her palm into her forehead “A surprise. He wanted it to be a surprise. Ugh, I swear he gets parenting and science mixed up on purpose.”

“I guess I’ll get started on the tests and initial report,” Candela says, her face somewhere between a wry grin and a grimace.

“Wait, there’s a report? Crap did I forget-”

“Not you, dimwit, you don’t have half the training for it. Just… just clean up this mess or at least move it out of our way, god.”

As Candela storms off to examine the charmander, Spark remarks, “I don’t think she likes me very much.”

Blanche puts the canvas down gently and pats him on the shoulder. “You just got off on the wrong foot.”

“You think?”

“She’ll get over it. But seriously, clean this mess up, please.”

* * *

_He really is talented,_ Blanche thinks to themselves.

The main pokemon gym is right next to the human gym and share a building. While waiting for Candela to be done coaching other trainers, they’d wandered off, deep in thought and now found themselves watching Spark leap for a slam dunk over some players on a portion of the basketball court. He completes it, but over-extends and lands flat on his face to the laughter of both teams. And himself, apparently, as he rolls over and kips up. 

Blanche doesn’t have a practiced eye for any sort of sports, but he’s keeping up with them, and some of the players are wearing university team practice shirts. He’s fast, reacts quicker than almost any of them and what he lacks in skill he makes up for in sheer energy. As evidenced by the air he catches to swat the ball clear out of the sky, sending it their way.

It’s lost a lot of the momentum when it arrives at her feet, so they pick it up. He’s jogging over, face alight with sweat and something else when he sees her. 

“Hey Blanche. Come out here much?”

They shake their head. “Candela’s in the pokemon gym, yelling other trainers into shape. I was just wandering.”

“Oh cool. Yeah, she’s some kind of hotshot here, isn’t she?”

An eyebrow, “That’s something of an understatement. She’s the university’s premier trainer.”

A shrug. “So, hotshot then. Anyways, gotta finish this game, I owe a dude for helping me with some composition homework.”

Blanche tosses him the ball and sticks around for a while, before returning to Candela. He’s talented, certainly, they think as he takes to the air, back arching and blonde hair wafting like a model.

_But he can’t shoot for shit_.

* * *

For the most part, it’s Candela who initiates things, but every so often…

Well.

Candela’s going over some coursework at the bar with colleagues while some tournament plays overhead. The bar usually doesn’t have sound running, but for Candela, the TV closest to them is on low volume, enough for her to listen while shooting theories and structure back and forth. 

Beer bottles and glasses of wine flow freely and the conversation starts to get more theoretical than structural, but few there care. It’s a hard course, but a good one, and everyone still in it is up to the challenge. Candela’s attention has been drifting more and more to the TV, so she’s oblivious to the woman across from her trying to point someone out to her.

Right up until Blanche appears very much in her personal space and nearly causes her to leap out of her skin.

“Oh, hey you, what’s up? How… was…?”  
She trails off while Blanche knocks back the remainder of her wine, slams the cheap faux-glass down, refills it and downs a full glass again.

“...teaching?”

They look up at her, put one hand on either cheek and lunge up to claim Candela’s mouth with a feral growl. Eyes widen, not leastwise Candela’s as Blanche deepens the kiss, slipping a too-clever tongue between Candela’s willing lips. Just as the taller of the pair lets her eyes begin to close and a throaty moan float loose, Blanche breaks it off.

“Settle up.”

They spin on their heel, silken hair flashing in the low light of the bar and stalk off. Candela swears they’re the only person on the planet that can make a predatory stalk look sexy. Breathless and wide-eyed, she turns to the group.

“Can I, uh, get someone back next-”

“Yes.”  
“Go!”  
“What are you waiting for?!”  
“Good luck!”

Candela is off after her frustrated, angry lover, already heating up at the memory of what happened the last time Blanche jumped her and trying to remember if she had anything pressing going on the next morning.

* * *

“And you’re sure you’re up to this, Spark? You can have all the tables and graphs ready for the morning?”

“Yep, no problem professor. The last minute is my specialty.”

“For once, we’re all in agreement,” mutters Candela.

“Sorry to dump this all on you out of the blue, but the government announced the grant last week, I have no idea how I missed it.”

“Ehn, no worries. You all worked your asses off and now it’s my turn!”

“Thank you, Spark. We look forward to seeing what you can do.” Blanche’s somber regard is lessened by firm pat on the shoulder they give him.

Spark salutes, spins in his chair twice and hunches over the keyboard, scrolling through the data and specifications.

**_* :･ﾟ✧Thirteen hours later✧･ﾟ:*_**.

When they return to the lab, there is a half empty case of energy drinks ripped open on his desk, several bags of McDonalds strewn about and Spark is standing on his head, propped up against a pillar, playing a videogame on an equally upside-down laptop. He hasn’t noticed them.

Professor Willow breaks the silence. “I’m not sure I want to know, but…”

“Oh hey! Y’all’re back!” Spark lets himself fall forward, tossing the controller aside and coming up in a smooth motion that immediately sets him stumbling. “Hoookay, that was effective at keeping me awake but wow okay yeah woozy.”

“Spark,” Blanche begins, “have you been up all night?”

“Yep! Here, lemme show you what I worked out.”

“I thought you said this was going to take a few hours,” growls Candela.

“It did! Annnnnnd then I ran into some problems. Well, not problems. A couple of the comparisons weren’t really aligning well so I tried to come up with a more intuitive way of representing the data, so I made a few gifs and that really seemed to work, but it was taking waaaaay to long for a single comparison, so then I figured I should probably just automate it and once I started with the automation for that, I figured why not automate the whole thing, wouldn’t static images be easier and yeah sure enough I banged through that pretty quick and teal deer fuck Perl, Python is glorious and if I never touch Ruby again it’ll be too soon.”

Blinks fired in sequence across the lab from Candela to Professor Willow.

“Yeah lemme just show you.” Spark manages, despite his state, to realize that he’s making little sense. He jams a display cord into the laptop and projects his work.

Clean, animated graphs swim into view over their heads, shining with subtle bezeling. The professor steps back and puts his hands on his hips, looking at them in wonderment. 

“Well. I dare say that’s better than a couple of Excel graphs.”

“You bet. They’re also in the powerpoint like you asked. I almost forgot that part and then I picked up a power ball in annnnd nope not getting sidetracked again!” Spark steps over a low rolly chair to sit on it backwards and spins gently. “Anyways, the code I wrote will take most data like what Blanche fed me today and pump out these babies, so no more all-nighters! ...on this front at least.”

Blanche heads to the laptop and tabs to the original program. Its UI is comically sparse, but it works and within moment they’ve figured out how to add and change datasets. 

“Spark, this is incredible work for an evening. You’ve probably saved us hundreds of hours in the future.”

“Blanche is right, even if we don’t get this grant, anything that cuts down on time away from the lab is fine by me.”

“...I guess they are really pretty. So long as the data is accurate,” is all Candela has to offer, but Spark is getting used to her. He’ll impress her yet, but that’s cool, that’s for another day.

“So we’re good? I’m off the hook?”

“Absolutely. Go get some rest.”

“Wheee!” Spark kicks off the floor, spinning himself round and round until the chair hits furniture in the corner of the room and hurls him bodily from it. Right into the hard, bare couch found there. He turns over, pulls an old, discarded coat over him and utterly ceases moving.

A soft snort from Blanche and the professor bemusedly offers, “Good night, Spark.”

Candela does him the favour of not reclaiming her jacket. It’s long, and meant for fall and spring anyways. She supposes he’s earned some rest.

* * *

In a few hours, Spark comes to, cuddling the coat, and smiling blissfully. _Mmm, smells good._

When that errant thought gets through his sleep-muzzed brain he sits up like a shot, because his room sure as hell doesn’t smell that nice.

* * *

In a few days, Spark goes over his code. Before long, he’s nodding sagely to himself,

“Yeah. Yeah, ok. I have no idea what half these functions do. Cool.”

* * *

Professor Willow’s pack is piled high with equipment as he leads them down the grassy path.

“It’s a good local biome, Spark, we come here pretty often for samples beyond the norm. Because it’s a watering hole, it attracts the rarer species and types and due to the communal nature of the place, they exhibit more placid behaviours, which makes catching them all the easier.”

“Cool, but, uh, I wasn’t expecting fieldwork to be like, in our figurative backyard.”

“Oh don’t worry, once you get trained up properly we’ll send you out with Candela into the wilds.”

“Greeaaat,” Candela mutters. 

“But that’s in the fu- hmm?” The professor’s head cocks to one side, listening. In the distance, the shrill yelling of kids at play can be heard and he frowns. They hurry through the grass, following him.

The pond, which is really a small lake, has undergone some changes. Namely a pier and a whole lot of screaming kids, with some parental oversight. Professor Willow’s face falls as he slows, entering the clearing. 

“Well,” Candela manages, “That’s a bust.”

They must have been quite the sight, four adults carrying a lot of gear, because one of the adults came over, a dark haired older woman in a one-piece swimsuit. A brightly coloured sarong fluttered behind them.

“Hi! You all don’t look like you’re here for a swim.”

Willow recovered. “Ah, no, ma’am. We’re scientists from the university, researching pokemon. This is, ah, was a watering hole for them.”

“Oh my!” said the woman, casting a look over her shoulder. “Is it safe for the kids here, then?”

“What? Oh, yes, yes, they’re fine. The sheer amount of noise they’re making will drive most of the pokemon away. Besides, isn’t anyone here a trainer?”

“No, we didn’t think we’d run into any…”

“You went into tall grass without a trainer?” asked Candela hotly.

“Well there was a path and we kept to it…”

With a twitching eye, Candela flings her arms out, taking in the quite literal tall grass all around the clearing. Blanche and Spark step in opposite directions, noticing the rising temper. Blanche lays a hand on Candela’s arm, calming her. 

“Hey, look, you’ve got four trainers here now,” says Spark, closer to the woman and away from Candela, “So there’s no risk for the kids.”

“But the sampling…” Professor Willow wilted, looking at the crowd of gibbering children.

“Come on, father, we can still do the water-type sampling, the ones under the surface. May we use your pier to cast off, ma’am?”

“What? Oh. It’s not ours, it was here when we got here. One of the children’s parents built it earlier in the summer.”

“So it’s public space? Excellent.”

“There are pokemon in the water though? Is it-”

“Yes, quite safe, they’re ffffff...frigging goldeens for crying out loud.” Candela is removing her pack, and dragging the deployable boat out. “At least the bloody pier will make getting out to the middle easier. You won’t even have to get wet, Blanche.”

A sniff. “I had thought of that advantage, yes.”

“Look, ma’am, you’re clearly worried about the pokemon. Why don’t I stay back here with some of mine while the professor and his assistants get to work?” Spark gently leads the woman away by the elbow, his tone cheery and reassuring.

By the time the pair had reached the kids, the woman had warmed to him and gathered the kids around him in a circle.

“Huh. Knew I hired him for a reason.”

“What, a sacrificial lamb to throw to the wolves?”

The professor gives a wry smile as the shrieking starts back up, “I thought more public relations, but you might have a point there.”

They quickly cast off from the pier, Candela paddling them out to near the centre of the small lake. The professor and Blanche busy themselves preparing lures and balls while Candela slows their momentum. Then they get to the tedious work of effectively fishing for pokemon.

Candela tries to enjoy the sun. Tries.

The kids don’t help, their yelling reaching out here with ease. But Spark at least has them out of the water, clustered around him. There’s a familiar flash and a cheer; he must have dispensed one of his pokemon. The slacker. She rolls her eyes and turns her attention to actual work.

It’s only when they return, an hour later, that they notice his antics. He’s got the kids copying a dabbing pikachu, overseeing the mess from top a hitmonlee’s shoulders. He’s effectively corralled them, she’ll give him that. Then he turns and, seeing the returning team, heads out on his makeshift steed, waving. The kids move to follow, but he tosses another pokeball out and their attention is recaptured.

He waits for them at the end of the pier. Candela’s not sure what he plans on doing, so keeps on paddling.

“Hey guys! Get any work done?”

“Some. Not enough,” grouses the professor as they pull up. Spark gets the hitmonlee to help pull them in and that’s where he miscalculates. With a delicious expression of surprise and “I have made a terrible mistake,” the blond trainer slides right off the pokemon’s smooth shoulder when it bends over and splashes terrifically in the water, soaking the professor and getting some water on Blanche’s pants.

There are comedic bubbles from his splashdown and pure silence from the professor. A single hand rises up from the water to make a thumbs up gesture. 

“Rod.” Blanche delivers a fishing rod to her father’s hand and Professor WIllow uses it to firmly push the hand back under water, gesturing to Candela to paddle over the hapless idiot. She does, with enthusiasm.

Some ways closer to shore, Spark eventually rises up from the water as Candela and Blanche collapse the little dingy into its portable shape. The professor is already walking up to him, shaking his head.

“Ten to one says he has to carry your dad’s pack on the way back.”

“No bet.”

Spark slumps a ways away, probably muttering an apology. 

In retrospect, it was probably the perfect moment and definitely where everything went south for the trio. The kids were quieting down and the sun was high in the sky, setting anything wet agleam in its light. A breeze tousles everyone’s hair. And then, all in one motion, Spark straightens and strips off his shirt, too-long blonde hair whipping back, abs exposed, hip bones prominent and oh. His smile is bright and self-effacing and his cheeks dimple slightly with the stretch of it while he runs a hand through sodden hair. _Oh_.

A clatter as Candela drops the folded-up boat.

“Oh no,” she whispers. “He’s hot.”

Blanche gives their girlfriend a wry look, distantly amused at Spark’s unconscious showmanship. “Finally noticed that, did you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup. 
> 
> When I woke up last week and saw the sheer amount of kudos this got overnight, I went back to bed because I figured I had to be dreaming. But I'm not! So thanks for reading and I hope you like it.
> 
> I figure this is as good a time to discuss format as any, though so... you may have noticed a lot of line breaks up there. That's about the rate that I'm dedicating to this thing on any given week, having three other writing projects. So I ask, would you all prefer tiny chapters uploaded more regularly, or bigger ones like this, whenever I feel I have enough to publish?
> 
> Either way, we're riding this Tauros to the end, so thanks again for reading and I hope you enjoy the ride. 
> 
> (I am assuming there is a pokemon called Tauros. I don't actually know.
> 
> No, I am not shitting you.)


	3. Chapter 3

Candela spends the entire walk back to campus with her eyes firmly Not On Or Anywhere Near Spark.

She also spends the entire walk back blushing furiously, which is an accomplishment with her skin tone.

Spark, naturally enough, doesn’t help.

“Hey, you ok there Candela? You look kinda hot.”

The blushing intensifies.

* * *

Blanche thinks this is the most hilarious thing they have ever seen out of their girlfriend.

* * *

“Ohhhhhh my god I am so sorry.” Candela apologizes from the couch, her voice muffled from being pressed into the pillow held between her chest and knees. They’ve changed out of the sticky (and wet) clothes from the day’s excursion and are relaxing in blessed AC. Well, one of them is.

“For what?” A bemused Blanche says from beside her, running their hands through dark hair.

“For that… embarrassing public display of hormones back there!”

“It was hardly public. My father is unlikely to have noticed anything, and Spark is so dense the physics department could use him as radiation shielding.”

“But… it’s… you’re… I’m-! Auuugh!” She buries her head back in the pillow.

“Those were words, yes. Would you like to form sentences with them?”

“I’m supposed to be your girlfriend and I spent the afternoon making eyes at that fucking idiot.”

“I’m fairly certain you spent the afternoon staring at the ground.”

“Mrrrrrrrrn…!”

“Candela, look at me.” The sulking woman keeps her head pressed into the soft fabric. So Blanche gently knots their fingers in dark hair and pulls her head back, drawing a gasp and a flush from Candela.

“Do you love me?”

“Yes!”

“Are you going to leave me over Spark or jump his well-sculpted bones without telling me?”

“Fuck no! ..wait wha-ah!”

Blanche pulls her head back farther and pushes the pillow out of Candela’s lap, slipping into the warmed space to replace it. Unsteady hands find pale hips.

“Then, Candela dear,” Blanche whispers into their lover’s ear. “I can’t find it within myself to be jealous of a perfectly understandable hormonal reaction.”

Further argument is prevented by teeth nibbling at a tense and exposed throat, wet lips gracing those marks shortly and hands slipping under clothes.

* * *

Once the initial rush of attraction is over, Candela manages to keep her shit together, fortunately. 

Unfortunately for Spark, it’s by being as antagonistic as ever.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

He throws himself into a chair next to Blanche. They’re in the lab, and Candela has just dressed down Spark’s lackadaisical attitude toward monitoring and reporting. He didn’t see the issue with the point-form notes, it’s not like anything he was gonna write was going to be in any sort of report. Candela was probably just pissed that she couldn’t mark up his writing in more red now.

“I suppose,” Blanche answers, scrolling through some raw data, running base comparisons in the back of their mind.

“Why does Candela hate me?”

Blanche kills the smile that blossoms on their face, thankful that Spark is just staring mournfully into the distance.

“Oh Spark, she doesn’t hate you.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Hmm, how much can they get away with talking about here. “She’s irritated by you and probably a touch jealous, but she doesn’t hate you.”

“Jealous? Of me? The hell for?!”

“I note that you don’t remark on the irritation.” Blanche’s eyes cut sideways and take in Spark’s chagrin.

“Yeah, well… hey, no changing the subject! Why’s she jealous?”

“You’re both incredibly popular, smart, athletic, and quite frankly _pretty_. But Candela feels like you manage all of that with no effort and tons of free time left over.”

Spark goes still and that strange intensity that they’d felt first meeting Spark settles over the room again. Chills creep down their spine, their hair standing up on end and Blanche has to give the young man their full attention. But he just heaves a sigh.

“Tons of free time, huh. Well, you can tell her that part ain’t true at least.”

There’s something wrong with Spark’s voice and it takes Blanche a moment to realize what it is. He sounds bitter. Strange how striking it sounds, coming from him. But they don’t know how to move the conversation forward, so they just leave it there. They’re still bad at this, despite all the effort they’ve put in. For a little while, they’re jealous of Spark too.

The quiet extends, until Spark shifts uncomfortably. 

“Ask another question?”

Blanche waves assent.

“Uh, so you and Candela are together, right?”

And here it comes. Blanche closes their eyes and fights the urge to raise fingers to their brow.

“Hey, whoa, sorry, none of my business I’ll back off-”

“Yes, and?”

“Oh. Um.” He swallows. “So like, because I work with you, people ask me what your deal is, and I’m like, ‘no one’s business but their own’ and I was wondering like, is that the right thing to say?”

Relief courses through Blanche. “That is absolutely the right thing to say, thank you Spark.”

“Good. Cool, glad I didn’t screw that up. Like, I didn’t want to all defensive on your behalf because you’re a grown up, but sometimes I feel like I gotta say _something_ to some of these questions.”

“‘What’s between your legs?’” Blanche quotes, drily. 

“Yeeeaahhh that one’s come up.”

“It often does, when people are being rude, or think they’re being clever.”

“Like, I’m not really up on trans terminology, but I respect you so I feel like I should be saying something.”

“Mmn. Well.” _Terminology indeed._ Better to put this to bed before he shoves his foot in his mouth. “What you’ve been saying is plenty, and more importantly, correct.”

“Yeah, ok. I can do that. Um. Anything else I should know?”

Blanche sighs, and turns away from the upright tablet to regard Spark seriously. “It’s not my responsibility to teach you anything about ‘terminology’ or my relationship with Candela and society. If you want to know more, you can do your own research and teach yourself. Start with ‘non-binary’ and work from there.”

“Ok, uh, okay. Sorry if I stepped over some line there…”

A pinch at the bridge of their nose. “I’m not mad at you Spark. I’m just tired. You are doing fine, respecting my identity and personhood and not making a big deal of any of it.Your concern is welcome, I am just… tired of...”

A wave, encompassing “all of it.”

He is adorable there, with his earnest, understanding gaze, shades off puppy dog eyes. A tentative smile.

“Ok, I can do that, what you said.”

“Good. Now don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Oh right, dammit, shift at the Shack! Gotta go!” He bolts for the door and Blanche turns back to finish their review. But then,

“Hey.” Spark’s stopped by the door. “That respect thing goes for Candela too. Maybe, um, see that she hears about it?”

And then he’s out the door, while Blanche crosses their arms and legs.

_Maybe I will, though you might not thank me for it._

* * *

There’s a kid waiting in the same stands as Spark. He’s just here to deliver some balls to Candela from their boss, but she looks busy annnnnnd he figures he should probably hoard his “piss Candela off” moments for when he’s not aware he’s doing it. And, at least, he’s bright enough to realize interrupting her during practice in a gym full of pokemon is a bad call. But the kid looks sad and, worse yet, bored.

So Spark steps over and sprawls out near him.

“Sup, brah.”

The kid looks up, startled, and immediately looks around for someone else Spark could be talking to. _Ah. One of those._

“Uh, hi.” The kid goes back to studiously looking at his feet. _Well, that’s not gonna work._

“Hey, you alright here, kid? You’re not lost or anything, are you?”

A rapid, worried shake of his head. “No, I’m just waiting for my brother.”

“Ah. He practicing?”

“Yeah. That’s him there,” the kid points out. Some dude is trying to coax a geodude to do something. He’s wearing school colours, and so is probably part of the school’s competitive team.

“Cool, a pokemon trainer. Gonna be like him when you grow up?”

The kid looks uncomfortable and withdraws. “Naw. He says I’m not strict enough with my pokemon.”

“Strict, huh?” Spark’s opinion of this guy has just taken a nose-dive. 

“Yeah. I treat mine too much like pets, he says.”

Spark shrugs, “Nothing wrong with that. They’re smart enough to be our friends.”

The kid looks up, eyes wide and shining, “Do you think so?”

“Sure kid. Don’t let someone else convince you your way doesn’t work. If it works for you, it works.”

They spend the rest of the practice waiting for their people to be done in silence. When Candela finally claps her hands together, a sound loud enough to reverberate through the gym, Spark gets up and dusts himself off, ostentatiously. He wanders over at a slow pace, not wanting to interrupt Candela’s closing remarks.

The kid’s following behind him, he notices and he slows so they arrive at the same time, moments after Candela ends with,

“-up with your bonding exercises. Trust is just as important as control, folks.”

Spark waves in something like an aborted salute. “Yo, Candela. Prof says you wanted these.”

He holds out the clear plastic case of pokemon balls, leftover from last semester’s excursions. He has the rare pleasure of seeing Candela light up around him.

“Oh sweet, the team could really use some backups, thanks Spark.”

“Danny! Dan! Mr. Spark says I can _too_ be a pokemon trainer. Pokemon are _so_ our friends!”

Dan snorts and looks Spark up and down, “Sure, they can be. But they don’t belong in the circle like that.”

Spark shrugs. “Whatever dude, you keep thinking that.”

“If his opinion was worth anything,” Dan continues, talking to his little brother, “He’d be on the team here, instead of being a gopher for Professor Willow.”

Candela bristles at that, and Spark shoots her a glance. He’s about to back off, but she’s already talking, “Philosophical differences aside, trainer Dan, I’d recommend against calling Professor Willow’s RA’s ‘gophers’ in the future.”

“Oh come on, Candela! You can’t seriously be sticking up for this undergrad.”

“As far as I’m concerned, Spark can stick up for himself. My concern was with that kind of attitude towards RA’s.”

“Heh, fair enough. Hey Spark, wanna put your money where your mouth it?” the trainer calls to Sparks long-retreating back. 

He stops, looks back. Looks at Candela, who gives him an impassive glare at first. But then, her head cocks slightly to one side and Spark swallows. _Oh what the hell is that supposed to mean!_ he asks himself, but he’s already turning back. He’s not going to disappoint. He’s not sure why, but he’s absolutely not going to disappoint Candela.

“Sure, what’d you have in mind?”

“Best of three or concede?”

“Sure, I’ve got enough dudes on me for that.”

Billy is looking between his brother and Spark and as nervous as he looks, both trainers give him a wink. Candela rolls her eyes and places both hands on Billy’s shoulders. 

“Come on, kid, let’s give them some space.” He looks up at her, blushing and awestruck that this legend is shuffling him off the court. A few of the university’s competitors have stuck around and gather behind her. She nods to them, gesturing at the stands.

Dan and Spark take up sides on either side of a stylized pokeball etched into the acrylic myomer floor. Spark shrugs off his backpack and picks out two pokeballs at random to go with Joey. It’ll be good to give them a workout.

“Gyarados, I choose you!”

Spark winced as he tosses his ball. “Rough call, buddy.”

The jolteon that Candela has gotten used to manifests in a flash of light. Dan’s face immediately falls, but he rallies. It’s not a hopeless fight, normally. But it is against this jolteon, against Joey. Spark gives him a nod. 

Before Dan even has the first syllable out, Joey is in the air and the flashing storm of a thundershock has incapacitated the Gyarados. 

In retrospect, that should have been Dan’s first clue.

The other trainer is scowling, but it swiftly turns into a sly smile as he recalls the water type. Spark accepts the win with another offhand salute and Joey returns to scrabble up his leg and side to curl around his shoulders. The faint aura of electricity that follows the eveelution around plays through Spark’s hair and Candela has to focus on the logistics of the fight. Bright blue dances through golden locks and he runs his finger back through it, sparks flying. Hair now on end, he pets the jolteon with a hand full of lightning. 

She has to snap her gaze back to Dan when they nuzzle.

If she knows Dan, and she does, he’ll go with what’s a guaranteed counter. Spark’s given him a gimme, especially in best of three. No one on her team is willing to give up the advantage he’s given them. The thing is…

...no one on her team has ever fought Spark.

“Go, Onyx!”

The ground type is a natural choice to shut down the early electric, and beefy enough to get him an advantage for the deciding match. Tactically, theoretically, it’s a good call. But looking at Spark, Candela is reminded of what Blanche had to say about him after that first meeting.

_It was like watching a raincloud come in, without the cloud and without the rain. A heaviness in the air, with all the certainty of your horizons clouding over. You could almost feel the static arc between each and every one of your hairs, from your arm to the nape of your neck._

Spark inclines his head to his jolteon and Candela thinks she can make out what he murmurs.

“You got this, bro?”

The jolteon, Joey, just butts him with his head and leaps off, landing gracefully in the circle and bounding forward to face the massive rock beast. 

Now Candela feels it, as Spark jams his hands in his pocket and just stares at Dan. Maybe Dan feels it as well because he shivers, rolls his shoulders, the confident lending the motion a subtle threat. It's the sort of subtle dominance that Candela looks for in up-and-coming trainers, the sort of thing that puts off opponents. Spark's is a dumb call, losing him the use of his pokemon in the long term for a short-term delay. He should be bringing out something that can tank the Onyx’s hits at the least. Not leave in a pokemon that’s going to keel over at the first attack from the ground type. And so Dan is confident, playing to the obvious strategic mistake by the rookie.

Candela doesn’t bring up her PDA. She doesn’t want to look up what level Dan’s Onyx ranks at. Ok, that’s a lie. She _wants_ to, but she knows it’s only to put off what she _instinctively_ knows is going to happen.

Dan opens his mouth to give his Onyx the order, but it’s too late, again . Joey moves like the lightning in his very heliand falls on the Onyx’s sensitive eyes with claws that are old, tough and ragged. The gravelly howling reverberates in the gym and from the gasps behind her, Candela knows they’ve somehow gathered a greater audience. The jolteon doesn’t stop there, leaving the ruined orbs to leak tears and worse down the rocky face. With scrabbling claws, the little thing darts up and over the Onyx’s face to nestle into the joint between its head and body. 

They can’t see what the electric type does next, but the Onyx suddenly spasms and begins to wrack and writhe, in obvious panic. Dan is frowning at the strange reaction and Candela is trying to remember enough physiology to figure out what the jolteon, what Joey is doing.

“Onyxes and Steelixes control of their bodies are unique among ground and associated types because of their sheer maneuverability and flexibility, especially for their size,” Spark says tonelessly. “This is due to a cluster of nerves in their uppermost ferrocervical vertaebrae that function as a sort of sub-brain for movement. Unlike similar nervous clusters in pokemon and humans, this cluster is relatively unprotected, in the Onyx’s case by a ‘choker’ of hard pebbles. While extremely effective in distributing the forces of underground movement, they are much more susceptible to…”

Candela is standing and she doesn’t know when that happened. Her hands are tight fists at her side and it’s all that she can do to stop from joining the steady, pulsing chant that has grown up in the stadium from the gathered students.

“Jol-te-on! _Jol-te-on! **Jol-te-on!**_ ”

Everyone loves an underdog.

Dan is looking at her wild-eyed and she clamps her jaw shut. She could tell him to concede, preserve his dignity and more importantly, his pokemon. She could say nothing and watch what she thinks will come to pass. Hell, she could give him that stupid head-cock movement she’d given Spark and see what he does.

But no.

She’s got a gym, and responsibility to think of. So she steps forward.

“I’m calling this match, under my authority as gym leader. Spark, recall your pokemon before it does any lethal damage.”

Spark fixes her with a look and a _thrill_ runs through Candela. Before she knows what she’s done, she’s rolled her wrist and a pokeball has been ejected from the holster in her voluminous sleeve. This one's not the ultraball, but a high-level magmar. She’s not sure if it would even phase the jolteon.

“Aight, Joey, we’re good.”

There’s a flash as the little golden pokemon darts up from the Onyx, into the air to be caught by the capture field of pokeball. Spark jams it into his pocket and shoulders his bag, making his way out of the gym.

Candela picks up the bag of pokeballs he’d given her and fall in step with him.

* * *

“...you really tell that kid to follow his dreams?”

“Hmm? No, I told him to do what works for him.”

“...that how you train your pokemon? How you have a level ninety-nine jolteon?”

“...I... did not know he balled that hard! But Joey’s been with me for… well. A long-ass time. If he’s strong, he’s strong because of _us_ , not because of some philosophy.”

She’s silent the rest of the way back to the lab.

* * *

_...he’s strong because of us._

* * *

Blanche and Spark are huddled in their seats in a corner of the lab. Well, Spark is. Blanche has their legs crossed and has their head propped up idly on one fist. Spark needs to pass MAT 137 and he apparently never took or passed high school calc. He is remarkably evasive about that, especially since that is a requirement of graduating in this district. 

“And this becomes… thirty-two?”

“Does it?”

“I don’t know! I’m asking you!” Spark’s frustration is easy to hear, overflowing in his voice as it is. 

“Spark, you have the formula, you have the order. There is only one answer. Have you found it?”

“I… I think so? I followed the formula, broke it down into easier math like you showed me, so I… I think so?”

This Spark is so very different from the one they and Candela normally see. He doesn’t exude the sort of pants-tightening, panty wetting confidence that Candela does, but in everyday life, there’s this sense of… trust that suffuses him. He trusts in himself, in the people around him, in life. 

He evidently does not trust himself to do math.

Even though he successfully answered this question.

Blanche sighs, tabs their phone off.

“Yes, Spark, you have it. Just like that last three.You’re getting there.”

“Oh phew. Yeah, I sorta get it now, it’s just that without a… I don’t know, a purpose? to the formulas in front of me, they just don’t stick in my head. They’ve just gibberish numbers and letters. 

“Hmm.” Blanche can’t really sympathize with that, but distantly they understand. “Once you start applying this to programming, I imagine it will be easier.”

Spark grunts and looks at the next problem, visible wilting. Blanche casts it a look, determines that its merely multilayering of the equations and gives Spark’s chair a kick. 

“You have this, just keep the formula foremost in your mind. Maybe spend some time drilling yourself, memorizing it.”

“Uuuuugh,” he groans. “That’s wooooork.”

“Yes Spark,” they say testily, “That’s generally how one gets ahead in the world.”

Distantly, Blanche wonders why she agreed to this tutoring.

* * *

They see Candela trying to coax a headbutt out of Joey, and they remember why.

_She understands,_ Blanche realizes, _On a subconscious level, maybe, but she understands. Her needs, at least. If not..._

_Ours?_

_Mine?_

_The neediness of hers and mine and what we sum to and what echoes in the infinite distance between our needy, needy hearts?_

* * *

_...strong because of us._


	4. Chapter 4

“Alright, junior ranger, stick close, don’t fall, and don’t be afraid to ask a lot of the dumb questions I’m thinking you’re gonna ask.”

Spark trails behind Candela, not used to the thick, clunky boots that he’s shod in and feeling sort of really kind of out of place on the rocky cliff path. When Professor Willow assigned both of them to the next expedition into the surrounding forests, both their jaws had dropped. Spark’s because he didn’t think the Professor really trusted him, and Candela because she didn’t think the Professor would betray her like this.

“Come on Blanche, pleeease?” She had begged her partner. “Please convince your dad to, like, I don’t know assign separate expeditions? We’d cover more ground that wa-”

“And Spark would probably walk off a cliff.”

Candela had clamped her mouth shut and pouted.

“I’m just going to make a fool of myself around him,” she’d muttered.

“Oh, I’m sure if you just act your normal, standoffish self he won’t pick up a thing. You’re both dense as all get out.”

And so now Blanche is leading Spark on his very first wilderness expedition. She’s convinced she’s going to kill them both. 

“Kay, first question: what happens if one of us gets like, seriously injured out here.”

“We can either radio for help, put up a smoke fire, or get one of our pokemon to carry us clear. And yes, that is exactly why you couldn’t bring Joey.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.”

They continue their climb, Candela leading and Spark trailing. The urban trainer has plenty of athleticism, but little stamina, which leads to more pauses than Candela would prefer. It’s beginning to grate on her nerves, but they manage to get to her usual campsite with some light still in the sky. 

Candela has to teach Spark how to pitch a tent on top of get dinner ready, so by the time she’s got a fire going, she’s just thankful their village idiot - _that’s not fair and you know it,_ she hears Blanche say - picked up on the process immediately.

“Hey, lemme deal with that.” Spark moves up beside her, crouching down.

“What, our royal feast of chicken soup and rice?”

“Yeah, take a break, stop worrying. I’m a pro at re-heating canned food.”

A snort. “Yeah, I can believe that.”

“Git, then, like bash.”

“You are _such_ a nerd.”

“Yo, you’re the one who gets it!”

Candela kicks over a log and watches as Spark stirs the rice into the soup, humming to himself. The firelight flickers prettily across his features, and she has to wonder what Blanche is playing at, leaving her out here with him.

Scratch that, she knows what the pale-haired scientist is playing at. She knows that Blanche doesn’t ascribe to any sort of monogamy, at least in theory. It took a herculean effort for Candela to get Blanche to notice _her_ let alone anyone else. But this trip, these set-ups, are Blanche reminding her that if she wants to ride the Lightning Express, she’s more than welcome to. Candela puts her face in her hands, as much as at her own word choice as her lover’s schemes.

To get her mind off the ridiculous situation she’s in, she asks Spark,

“So what pokemon did you bring? I hope you remembered your brief…”

“Yep,” Spark nods, “Something tough, able to quickly recover in case we need to battle down the pokemon to get them into the balls. And able to carry us back. That… should prolly go in the brief.”

He gives her a pointed look. “Yeah, fair. I’ll tell the professor. So…?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve got a rhydon.”

Candela’s eyebrows shoot up. “A rhydon? Huh. I thought you didn’t live, ah, somewhere that really had the space for one.”

“Heh, no kidding. I’ve got to make space every couple of days in my schedule to take him out to a corral to run. He’s made friends with a bunch of ponyta’s, really helped our groove.”

“Your groove?” A wry smile spreads on Candela’s face at Sparks’s non-standard terminology.

“Yeah, you know, how you get along with your pokemon.”

“Uh-huh. I’ve just never heard it called a ‘groove.’”

“Yeah well, now you have. Dealwiddit, dealwiddit, hashtagdealwiddit.”

Candela backs off. She may be dense, but she knows when Spark breaks out the really blatant memes he’s being defensive. 

“Ponytas though? I’ve always like them. I have one, but I never get as much chance as I’d like to take her out.”

“Yeah? You ride her?”

“Hell no, ponytas aren’t horses. Their ankles can’t sustain the weight of an adult rider.”

Spark shoots her an appreciative glances, and Candela is suddenly intent on not turning a darker shade.

Presently, Spark takes the pot off the fire and pours them the soup and rice, miraculously unburnt. The pair of them wolf down the calories and it’s not long before they’re lounging back, heavy with sustenance. Spark’s eyes are already starting to droop, prompting Candela to haul herself to her feet.

“Alright, get to bed. I’ll clean up here and join you shortly, we can go over the specifics of tomorrow, tomorrow.”

Spark looks at her gratefully and in something somewhere between a crawl and a stumble, makes his way back to the tent. Candela’s familiar enough with this camping ground to find the river in the dark, wash their stuff and make it back to douse their fire and then crawl into the tent. 

There’s plenty of room inside, the thing is designed to room three of them; Blanche, Candela and Professor Willow on the rare occasions they can get Blanche into the wilderness. She finds her sleeping bag and, only barely hesitating, strips out of her pants to slide into the smooth folds of the thing. Sleep claims her almost as fast as it did Spark.

* * *

The shrilly trilling heap of iron and plastic they unfortunately refer to as an alarm clock goes off shortly after dawn and Spark manages to beat Candela’s hand to the antiquated thing by a millisecond. Which means he is just in time to slap it off and have his hand nearly impaled by Candela’s coming down full force on it and the alarm clock.

“HnnnnnnnnnnghrrrrkkkaaaaaafuCK!” comes the exclamation from the sleeping back across the tent.

“Sry,” manages the still-sleepy woman.

With just a little more swearing, Spark manages to lever himself up into a sitting position, and Candela slows parses that not only did he divest himself of his pants but his shirt as well. Her consciousness rises on fantasies of what she would really, really like to do to that torso. 

“Bleh. Wanna grab first, uh, shower? Dunk in the river? Whatever?”

“No, I crushed your hand, you first.”

“Ladies before beauty?”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Bleeeh. Fine.” It occurs to Candela that Spark is now blushing, a rich, ruddy red that spreads with alacrity down his back. As he gropes around in his pack, something niggles at her brain. When he rises, only in his boxers and towel clamped solidly to his crotch, she remembers what several years away from testosterone-ruled bodies had purged from her mind.

_Oh right. Morning wood._

Candela is really, really glad Spark can’t see her face.

* * *

They spend hours catching pokemon in the forest and the river. Candela’s knowledge of the terrain has Spark scrambling to keep up and he often wanders out of their search area, but she grudgingly has to give it to him - he has a real talent for gathering samples.

Which is to say that wild pokemon flock to him like critters out of a Disney movie. It is almost unfair and all that keeps it from being truly unjust is the torn look on Spark’s face. 

“Like, on the one hand, this is awesome. I’ve never seen a sawbuck in my life. I mean, check this fucking rack of leaves out,” Spark jams his head through a space in the pokemon’s horns, blowing a red leaf out of his face. He rapidly backs off when the sawsbuck goes to nuzzle him in the face.

“On the other…” he sighs, and bounces a pokeball off the curious beast. The flashing light drives off the countless other creatures around him, but from previous experience, Candela knows that is only a temporary situation. “Man, do I feel guilty.”

“Oh cheer up. We don’t capture pack pokemon or families and you get to play with them all you like back in the lab, so you know they’re not mistreated. Look at it this way: better you’re doing it and can guarantee humane research than some outfits out there.”

Spark’s face darkens, and he nods.

“Yeah, fair enough.”

He sits down in a harrumphing collapse of gangly legs and looks to the sky, scanning for more flying types.

“Hey, so what about the packs?”

“Oh, Blanche will usually do that, though more recently we’ve been contracting that out as they really don’t like going out on their own. Or, you know, at all, with these insane winters. They do the releases too.”

Spark perks up. “Hey, maybe I can help with that.”

Candela frowns. “I’m not sure… you don’t even know how to camp, let alone camp in winter…”

“Hey, I’m learning! And the cold doesn’t bother me too much.”

“But it bothers Blanche plenty, so you can maybe see why I’m concerned.”

“Oh, uh. Yeah.”

“Whatever, we’ll let the professor decide,” she shrugs, prepping some balls as bird-like forms begin to circle.

* * *

It is the last day of Candela and Spark’s trip and Blanche is staring wistfully at frozen pizza in the oven. One the one hand, they wish that Candela would come back and cook again. On the other, they’re really enjoying the ability to walk around butt-naked, sit on floors and go to sleep at fuck-off-in-the-morning with your face wrting “gggggggggggggggggggggggggggg” on your keyboard ad infinitum.. 

The trials of having a partner invested in your well-being.

* * *

It is the last day of their trip, and Spark is as scared as he’s ever been in his life.

“What the hell is that?!” he yells over his shoulder, recalling his badly injured rhydon.

“Abomasnow!” Yells Candela, recalling her ursaring. They’re not supposed to be this far south, this early! Hell, they barely show up around here!”

“Great, I’m going to get murdered by the overweight version of the monster from SkiFree,” Spark mutters. “Please tell me we have a plan.”

“Normally, we call for help and run, but the damn thing crushed the emergency beacon. So, unless you have any tricks up your sleeve…?”

“You all said only bring one pokemon!”

“Yeah, well. Sorry. I, ah. Well.” She spears him with a look. “You didn’t see this, alright?”

“See wha-?”

Candela rolls her wrist and a black and gold ball dispenses from a hidden holster into her hand.

“Come, charizard.” Candela intones, tossing the ball and Spark shivers at the promise of violence in her voice, that thick, blood curdling growl. The flash comes and a great winged beast appears, scaled in black and-

“Hang on, that’s not a chariza-”

The world goes the white found at the base of a blue flame and a wall of heat swallows Spark and his consciousness.

* * *

Later, they are huddled around the campfire, Candela withdrawn into herself, and Spark drinking water by the gallon. 

“Look, Candela, I’m not about to tell anyone, it’s just… gimme some kind of warning, ok?”

“Sorry.”

“That’s cool, I’m not mad, it’s just… look, I don’t have the kind of, um, academic knowledge you and Blanche have. If we’re gonna, iunno, be a team? It’d be cool to know what I’m getting into.”

“Sorry.”

“Hey, enough with the sorry’s I’m just looking for an explana-”

“What do you want me to tell you, Spark?! I’m sorry a pokemon that wasn’t even supposed to be down here nearly killed us! I’m sorry you didn’t have that information. I’m sorry I have to carry this ball around so that no one - including my partner and their dad! - ever find out about it! I’m sorry I can’t… share…”

Her voice breaks. Tears well up. Across the fire, Spark’s face is so wide open, so welcoming, she would cast herself across and either strangle him or crawl into his embrace.

Instead, she bolts, into the tent, tearing the zipper down with force enough to rip it. Teeth gritted, she adamantly refuses to cry and hauls herself into her sleeping bag, dragging it up and over her head. _Sleep, go to sleep. Everything looks better in the morning, child. Go to sleep, child,_ sings a half-remembered voice.

But her self-hate and anger still clot up in her heart and soon enough, her stomach is roiling in hunger. More than an hour passes and she’s seriously considering swallowing her pride and going out there just for some food. But a peek over the covers of the bag reveals dark; the fire’s run down and Spark is probably cleaning up. Better not to be a nuisance as well as… whatever she feels like.

Words are hard.

* * *

Blanche holds the wine bottle up to their eye and peers down the neck. Nope, all gone. A sigh, and the bottle is tossed into the recycling bin. Looking around the apartment, they suppose they’re going to have to do a bit of cleaning before their girlfriend comes back. They still can’t believe Candela is into _them_ , wants to be around _them_ , socially, emotionally, _carnally_ and-

Whoa now, that’s probably the alcohol speaking. Right, first business of order, water. Then cleaning.

They wonder if Candela is getting laid in that tent. Probably not, the woman is incredibly uptight. But they as much as they want to hold onto the dark, gorgeous lover they’ve somehow managed to luck into, they don’t want to seem… clingy. So they’ve made it quite clear that they view this as an open relationship.

But this is Candela. And if they know Candela, she going to come back horribly repressed and in serious need of a lay.

* * *

Candela is beginning to drift off when she notices the soft glow penetrating the tent’s sides. There’s the soft chittering of insectile pokemon and the murmur that she recognizes as Spark’s voice. Sitting up, she peeks out of the tent. The bare wisps of smoke that was their campfire are barely visible in the clear autumn night, but beyond them, illuminating them, bob little orbs of light, outlining a male figure, hands outstretched.

Despite herself, Candela crawls out of the tent, into the chill night. Pulling the hoodie closer around her and picking her way carefully, Candela makes her way to the river’s edge. Spark’s there, trying to coax floating pokemon into the palm of his hand in that heart-twinging murmur.

“Good to see you can’t tame every pokemon within minutes,” she manages, whispering.

Spark jumps and the creatures dart out in a sphere around them, illuminating more of the river and the opposite bank. In the distance, narrow green and gold eyes glimmer in the dark. 

“Oh man, talk about heart attacks. You are way too quiet.”

“I didn’t want to scare them off, the illumises and volbeats.”

“That what they are? Cool.”

“Think fireflies, except pokemon.”

“That’d be why I’ve never seen any, I guess. Don’t get out into the country much.”

“Yeah, well, that’ll be changing. Evidently.”

“Heh, yeah.”

A long silence. The pokemon flit and drift closer, until a veritable planetarium floats around the pair. The river sloshes and burbles quietly in the night, its dark surface shifting and rolling in inscrutable motion. Candela jams her hands into her pockets. 

“I-”  
“It’s cool, Candela. You really don’t need to explain yourself to me. I get the need for space and, ah, secrets. So don’t go telling me shit that’s better whispered into one of those foldy-puzzle… things.”

“...a fortune teller?”

“That what it’s for? We just whispered secrets into them.”

“Who’s we?”

Spark stops trying to coax the pokemon to him. Aside from an illumise that drifted closer, none seemed affectionate towards the blonde. His hands come up to his mouth and mimic the folding, opening and closing motions of the tellers before he whispers something unintelligible into cupped hands. His eyes dance in the fey light and a grin twitches at his lips.

Candela snorts. “You’re ridiculous.”

A stomach growls, audibly.

“And you’re hungry,” says Spark, smugly. “Come on, there’s still stew in the pot and it’s thick enough that it’s probably still warm enough.”

A grunt, and for a moment Candela doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to leave the shore, all glimmering with the reflected beauty of the stars. But she turns and, grudgingly, follows the dork back to camp.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here there be porn. Ye have been warned.

Blanche is waiting for them in the lab’s parking lot when the pair pull in, Candela parking Professor Willow’s SUV across two spaces. She steps out of the car, slams the door and sweeps Blanche up into a voracious kiss, spinning them around and pinning them against the door. A noise something like a squeak floats over the hunk of metal and Spark rolls his eyes, trying to hide the nervous blush.

After about a minute of unloading balls from the back of the car, he sticks his head around and barks,

“Yo, either lend a hand or get a room. I wanna get a shower in before collapsing in a bed not made of nylon and dirt.”

Candela removes her hand from Blanche’s ass and breaks the kiss desultorily. As Blanche fixes their outfit and licks their lips, Candela sulks over and grabs an armful of crates from Spark. The tall woman then stomps up the steps into the lab, hip checking the door open. 

Blanche accepts a smaller armload from Spark, who takes the last of them.

“So, how was your first foray into the wilds?”

“Holy shit I have never wanted hot water more in my life. The only thing stopping me from jamming my head under the faucet in the McD’s on the way back was the fact that it didn’t fit.”

“You tried?”

“You’re goddamn right I tried.”

“Further to the reasons I despise fieldwork.”

“Yeah well. Thankfully Candela got us out of the only serious scrape we got into, the rest was cool.”

Blanche’s eyes cut toward him, narrowing. “Nothing too serious, I hope.”

Spark shifts uncomfortably. “I’ll let Candela tell the story, don’t want to steal any of her thunder.”

“Evasion,” notes Blanche.

“Hey, I don’t want to get yelled at because I robbed your girlfriend of her chance to impress you.”

“Deflection.”

“Besides, I was, ah, unconcious for a chunk of it.”

At that Blanche pauses. Stops in the hallway and looks at him. 

“What?”

“And now you’ve earned yourself a trip to medical.”

“But I want a shoooooowwweeeeerrrrr!” comes the whine.

* * *

Spark turns out to be fine, eliciting a round of “thick-headed” jokes.

Professor Willow buys the pair of them a round at the bar, and Spark a few more in celebration of his first field mission.

The evening is prevented from turning into a drinking game between Candela, WIllow and Spark by Spark’s desperate need to shower.

* * *

“Hey fellas, I’m back.”

A grubby hand brushes over a line of pokeballs, releasing them and immediately reducing the space in the tiny room by half. The assorted pokemon yip, growl and otherwise make their appropriate noises, dancing around and climbing up the young man’s clothes.

“Aww, hehe, gimme a second, I’ll get the food.”

Boxes and cans get opened from a supply closet that contains more pokemon food and toys than cleaning supplies and soon Spark has a free minute to sit the fuck down, collapsing into a massive, old beanbag chair. It’s worn by years of use and abuse, with too many patched rents to be resellable. He closes his eyes and sinks into the comfortable old thing, neck hanging back. 

Before long the pack of creatures are playing, rough-housing and singing, happy to be free of their balls. He’s got to go take the larger ones out to a field later in the evening, but right now…

A pichu eventually scrabbles up onto him and stands on his chest, tiny forepaws resting on Sparks chin. Realizing the huge monster man that feeds it is asleep, the pichu scampers up into the crook of his neck and burrows between him and the chair, making itself comfortable. Before the end of the night, Spark is covered in furred, scaled and feathered bodies, purring, hissing and chirruping in contentment.

The shower doesn’t happen until morning.

* * *

Blanche rolls over blearily the next morning, aching in places they didn’t know they had before meeting Candela. Insidious thoughts of strapping their lover to the frame and leaving them there float hazily through a sleep-addled mind. _No, wait. Just get her and Spark together. Throw him at her. **Chain** him to her._

Slapping their hand around the night table, they manage to find their phone and check the time. An hour after Candela is normally up and running, and she’s still in the bed behind them. While normally more than happy to let Candela enjoy her lazy days, Blanche has a mind for revenge. Flexing fingers and wrists, they duck under the covers.

* * *

“...think I’m gonna pass that math course, assuming I don’t mom’s spaghetti the final.”

“Mmn, good.” Blanche murmurs hunched over their laptop in the lab, double checking figures from the latest batch.

“If you and Candela aren’t gonna be too busy during finals, do you think I could bother you for some more tutoring before then?”

“Spark, we’re grad students. We don’t have finals.”

“Seriously? What do I have to do to get that sweet deal?!”

 

They spear him with a look. “Pass undergrad.”

“Oh yeah, that.”

Blanche shakes their head, setting platinum hair swishing along their back. Straightening, they stretch, cracking and popping joints in a display that sends a shudder down Spark’s entire body. A smirk.

“Wuss.”

“Whatever.”

“But yes, we can review before your final. Have you decided on a major yet?”

“Ehn, probably going to do comp sci. Everything else I can learn on my own, especially art-wise. But I kinda need some hand-holding for programming and stuff.”

“Wise,” comments Blanche, giving him an appraising glance. Spark notices and looks away, embarrassed.

“You figure Candela would be willing to help too or…?”

“While I’m sure she would love to berate you, she is likely going to be busy training for the university championships in her free time.”

“Championships? What, like in pokemon battling?”

“Yes. Have you had a chance to see the university’s team?”

“Not really. Candela made me fight one of them after delivering her some spare balls, but…”

An eye arches gracefully. “And how did that turn out?”

“Well, Joey kicked his ass, but I really don’t think that’s fair.”

“Quite. Level ninety-nine pokemon are usually restricted to master leagues.”

“Yeah so, I mean, it looked like a serious business gym? That’s all I got.” Spark shrugs, hoping to change the topic.

“Indeed. Our university is ranked in the top three.”

“No shit? And how much of that is down to Candela?”

A small, tight smile. “More than a little. They’ve risen steadily since she joined and took on some coaching duties.”

“Cool beans. Yeah, I guess training herself, her pokemon and everyone else’ll take up time.”

“Quite.” A pause, considering. Then, “Would you like to see a match?”

“Huh? Like, with the team?”

“Yes. I try to sit in on a few every term. There are often exceptionally rare pokemon from other areas present; it is a good chance to evaluate them in a humanocentric environment.”

“And watching your girlfriend wreck face is what, a bonus?”

A blush plays gently upon olive skin. “She cuts a fine figure in her uniform, it’s true.”

“Ha! Yeah, sure, I’m down.”

* * *

That weekend they take Willow’s SUV to the next city over, with Blanche driving. Spark spends the trip with a death grip on the oh-shit bar. 

You’d think it was Candela with the need for speed.

But no.

Oh, no.

* * *

They screech into the stadium’s parking lot and Blanche finally acknowledges the existence of things like pedestrians and lanes. At the waving of someone in their school colours, Blanche pulls up next to a huge bus and Spark cannot get out of the vehicle any faster, wild-eyed and holding his chest.

The man who waved them over approaches, extending a hand for Blanche to shake.

“Who’s the wuss, Blanche?”

“Spark. He’s my father’s other RA.”

“Spark, eh? Yeah, we heard the about the ass-whupping you delivered Dan,” the taller man towers over the bent over Spark.

“Um, yes? No hard feelings?” The blond winces, flashing a sheepish smile upwards.

“Ha! No worries, mate, he was a tosser anyways. He got himself bumped down to second string after that pretty shortly. You did us all a favour, we figure.”

“Do you think we stand a chance at the finals?” Blanche asks, more out of politeness than anything.

“Hell yeah! We always stand a chance, but this year we’re mega strong. Should be a good set of matches today.”

“I’m glad. Where’s Candela?”

“Gone to handle the admin bullshit. Come on, the team’ll want a moment in our lucky charm’s presence.”

As he leads them into the building, Spark whispers, “Lucky charm?”

An overly dramatic eyeroll. “Supposedly, they’ve never lost while I attend a game. I swear, it’s rank superstition.”

Spark breaks out in a grin as another atypical blush spreads across the short trainer’s face. But before he can rag them about it further, their guide pushes open a door and ushers them in. The locker room erupts into cheers as Blanche enters, enflaming the blush even more. 

Spark keeps a ways back as Blanche circulates through the men and women of the team, commenting, looking over rosters and dispensing what advice they can. From the commentary, Spark gets the feeling he knows why the team doesn’t lose while Blanche is here, their cutting insights leaving some trainers deflated but better prepared.

“Hey, uh, Blanche? Can you take a look at Cookie? She’s been kind of lethargic.”

“Unfortunately, that is something that you should have brought up with Candela. I’m statistics, she’s the biologist. Although…” Blanche turns, suddenly remembering something. “Spark, you’re registered in pokemon first aid, correct?”

“Yup.” He wanders over, arms clasped behind his head.

“This is Spark, Professor Willow’s other RA. He is quite competent with pokemon, and his medical knowledge likely outstrips mine. Would you be willing to let him look at the pokemon?”

The young trainer looks uncertain, but says, “Well, if Professor Willow hired you, you must know your stuff.”

“Well, I wouldn’t-” Spark catches Blanche’s look and shuts down that line of speech. “Yeah. May I see Cookie?”

The young woman dispenses a houndoom into the locker room with a worried warning. “Be careful, she’s been kind of snippy with strangers lately.”

“No problem. Heya, Cookie, I’m Spark.” He extends a hand in her direction and the pokemon sniffs it momentarily. Then she visibly relaxes and nudges his hand up to give her scritches. “Heh, that’s a good girl. I’m gonna look you over now, okay?”

Gentle hands go over the houndoom’s frame, examining her for injuries not visible to the naked eye. Save for a silent, jerky jump away from his hands when he touches her underbelly, Cookie is more than happy to nuzzle into the trainer. He sits back heavily after he’s done, getting the pokemon to open her mouth for a quick check.

“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news, what do you want to hear first?”

The trainer braces visibly. “Bad news. Hit me with it.”

“You’re not going to be able to compete with Cookie here.”

“What? What’s wrong?!”

“Good news time! You’re gonna be a grand mommy! Cookie’s pregnant, aren’t you Cookie? Aren’t you?” The houndoom prances excitedly in place at the tone in Spark’s voice, batting playfully at him and licking his face.

“What? But I-?”

“Cassie. Is Cookie not spayed?”

“I thought, but, she-”

Blanche and Spark back off, letting the mild crisis handle itself. 

“Good catch,” murmurs Blanche.

“Yeah, I hope it doesn’t impact the team’s chances.”

“I doubt it. Candela will have planned for such disruptions. If the trainer doesn’t have an alternate, there are others who can be subbed in.”

Spark nods as the tall trainer, by now obviously Candela’s vice-captain, sends someone to update the captain.

“Well, I’m glad they’re not making her fight.”

A sidelong look from Blanche. “You don’t approve of pokemon battling, do you?”

Spark shifts from one foot to another, uncertain. “I… don’t really know. I mean, I know conditions are good, but it’s just… it brings back memories about. Well. Not every venue is legit, you know? I don’t like the idea of making pokemon fight. If they don’t want to.”

“Mmm.” Blanche looks at the trainer, processing the implications of what he’s said. Mental notes are made, and a hand clasped to his shoulder. “You’re a good trainer, Spark. I’m glad we have you.”

Finally, it’s his turn to blush.

* * *

Blanche leads him to the stands where the general murmur of the place breaks over them like a tide. The stadium is huge, capable of seating thirty thousand. Some kind of cheer captain notices Blanche and squeals, coming over to hug the nonplussed trainer, gabbing on about attendance and Candela’s chances. Spark’s entire willpower is given over to not bursting out laughing at the visibly draining patience on Blanche’s face. He nearly howls with laughter as the girl hands over a short metal rod. _Does she_ want _to get beat with that thing or what?_

When they’re finally free from fangirling clutches, Spark asks, “So what’s with the pipe? Is some fierce pokemon hooligan action going to break out here?”

A snort. “No, a general noise maker. The home team gets walk-up music, so we have to provide a morale boost for our side.”

“Theme songs? No way! That’s amazing! Hey, what’s Candela’s?”

A sinister smirk as the rod gets twirled. “You’ll see.”

“But you said…?”

“I know what I said.”

* * *

Candela is in the last match-up, a choice that causes Blanche to relax somewhat. When Spark asks why, they reply, “If she thought there was a chance her team would lose four before she had a chance to fight, Candela would have put herself earlier in the line-up. That is part of the administrative duties of the captain, assigning the rotation.”

“Huh. That’s a gutsy call.”

“Perhaps, or perhaps she simply knows her opponent well enough. Ah, hush now, it’s time.”

The short break before the deciding match is over and Blanche stands, holding high the pole she’d been beating against the railing as a cheer with the rest of their university’s riotous section. Their section goes quiet while a chorus of boos echo up from the opposite side.

Then Blanche brings down the rod and atonal, musical hell breaks loose. The initial, teeth-shaking clang is echoed by higher-pitched clangs higher up, establishing a rapid, pulse pounding beat. And then feet come down in a peal of thunderous stomps. Rain sticks rattle, someone whistles and before long, the hair is sticking up on the back of Spark’s neck. Then some voice in the back breaks out with a high wailing note and the music shifts to this thing of high tension and promised violence.

In the distance, there might be another school trying to boo them, but it’s soon lost in the chanting.

Can-de-la!  
Can-de-la!  
Can-de-Can-de-Can-de- _la!_

_Can-de-la!_   
_Can-de-la!_   
_Can-de-Can-de-Can-de- **la!**_

**_Can-de-la!_ **   
**_Can-de-la!_ **   
**_Can-de-Can-de-Can-de-LA!_ **

The chant breaks up and the crowd goes wild as Candela steps out of the pit, clad in the black white and red that will one day make her famous. Spark finds himself on his feet, one of the many still cheering “Can-de-la” and Blanche’s face is alight, glowing with pride.

* * *

It is in no way, shape or form even _remotely_ fair for the opposing trainer. Candela goes through his entire roster with two pokemon.

* * *

Spark has never seen anyone actually be carried out of a game in victory, but the team and several cheerleaders rush the stadium grounds, pick Candela up and toss her into the air, repeatedly until they enter the bowels of the stadium. Blanche elbows him and gets them moving through the crowd.

They’re in the parking lot when a champagne-drenched and wild-eyed Candela comes out at the head of the crowd of trainers and fans, all laughing, cheering and chanting. She spots the pair of them and rushes up, a grin splitting her face as she lifts Blanche into the air, spinning around and slowly lowering them for a kiss. Even under the white jacket, Spark can see the muscles clench smoothly in time with the show of athleticism and affection and he swallows. He was not aware of precisely how ripped Candela is. Then she tosses her lover up and catches them on one shoulder, turning to Spark.

“Well, finally got a chance to see what a real trainer looks like, eh, Spark?”

Before he can even form an answer, she steps in, turning parallel with him and smacks his ass. His startled yelp and hop spreads laughter among the crowd and he has to grin through his embarrassment. 

He’s also trying to puzzle out the meaty squeeze she gave his buttocks that he hopes went unnoticed by the gathered crowd and so misses a lot of the negotiation of rides. So he’s still puzzled when he’s unceremoniously shoved into the back of Willow’s SUV and Candela throws herself over him to lie down along the length of the seats, her legs draped over his lap. 

“Heyyyyy, gopher, give the victorious conqueror a foot massage,” she drawls as she rips open a pack of seaweed chips.

“What?”

“If she falls onto the floor on the way home, it is entirely your fault,” says Blanche as they slide into the driver’s seat.

“What?”

Candela raises a foot to poke him in the cheek as Blanche throws the SUV in reverse and backs out too quickly. Candela begins to roll forward and Spark catches her by the hip, beginning to question what exactly he did wrong in a previous life.

“Oi, oi, watch the hands, pretty boy!”

“Watch them less and her more.”

“Why this?!” Spark wails, even as he takes a brown foot in his hands.

* * *

“Championship, get!”

“Funding, get!”

“Scholarship, get!”

The three RAs cheer as they exit the lab, revelling in each other’s and their collective success. 

“Oh man you guys, it was hard as hell, but this has been the best four months of my _life!_ ” 

Candela and Blanche are dragged into a one-armed hug each as Spark leaps between them and crushes them to him. As snowflakes fall, adding to the already copious amount on the ground, the pair look at each other from within his arms. They share a moment of incredulity and then giggle. Candela barely even punches him in spleen.

“This calls for a celebration! To the pub?”

“To the pub!”  
“To the pub.”

They get to within a block of the campus bar when they realize that every other undergrad has also finished exams and is lined up in the cold, clear around the building. They look at each other in despair before Candela says,

“Your dad’s gone for the conference, right?”

“If by conference you mean shallow excuse to get blitzed and argue over theory over New Year’s, then yes, yes he has.”

“His place?”

“...so long as we don’t put too big a dent into his ‘stash,’ I see no reason not to.”

“Uh, stash? Willow’s place? What am I getting into here, exactly?”

“Hehehe,” cackles Candela, slinging an arm around Spark’s neck. “You see, Spark, m’lad, Blanche’s dad hides a dark and _dank_ secret.”

Spark’s eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope!”

“He’s a memelord?!”

Spark’s world goes sideways as Candela immediately throws him into a convenient snowbank. 

“Why do I even bother?!”

Blanche helps the snickering mass of snow and human to his feet. “In all seriousness, Father has a stash of… the finer things in life. His house is also where my Sixty-Four resides.”

“Oh sweet! Drugs, drinking and vidya! I’m down.”

“So glad,” growls Candela. “Now let’s hit a liquor store so we don’t empty the old man out.”

* * *

A scant hour later, Spark has discovered where exactly Blanche learned to drive from. Across Mario Kart, Extreme-G and Pod Racer, neither him nor Candela were ever able to unseat the trainer from their throne as Lord of the Races. But as fierce as the competition for second was, the other two trainers would like to win at something.

“Alright, let’s do this. Mario Party Drinking Game!” Spark crows.

“Shit, I’m down, but what are the rules?”

The blonde slaps his phone down on the table and the others lean over tipsily to peruse. Eyes widen.

“Holy shit.”

“We are going to die,” deadpans Blanche, already reaching for the scotch.

“We can tone them back! Look, there’s these checkboxes…”

A giggling, undignified heap on the couch soon defines the group as they proceed to win and lose their way into a drunken puddle. Blanche manages to stand and stumbles off to go find a thing, leaving Spark and Candela closer on the couch than they’ve ever been. To Blanche’s despair, they are stiff and immobile when they return. Their diabolical plan will need further hands on.

Candela catches sight of the bottle they’ve brought.

“Ooh, the good shit. Spark, you’ve gotta try this, it’s from Can… Cane… that tiny country that sounds like me. It’s maple syrup… _whiskey_.”

“Ooh, gimme!”

Blanche collapses onto the couch, splaying across both in a drunkenly elegant stretch that makes it very clear to all present that they’ve stripped to their leotard. Squarely and mostly across Candela, they rest their head on Sparks lap. As they somehow manage to retain enough coordination to pour the liquor, Candela idly runs her hands down a black-clad flank.

A few appreciative sips later, Spark asks, picking at Blanche’s shoulder, “So hey, what’s up with this thing?”

“Mmm? Oh, it’s a protective material my father designed for pokemon battles. Insulating, armoured, heat-resistant, electrical hazard-rated and thoroughly comfortable. We’ve been trying to pitch it to leagues off and on for years, but they just don’t see the need.”

“Huh. Neat.”

Minutes pass in companionable silence, the only shifting being Blanche and Candela’s hands as they intertwine. Spark tries to look anywhere but there, steadfastedly ignoring the twinge in his chest. Blanche’s eyes dart up to his face under lidded eyes and they smother a frown. It is perhaps time to-

“Hey, so, another question.”

“Yes?” 

“I see the cartridge over there, is there any reason we haven’t busted out Smash yet?”

“Oh no,” Blanche’s free hand slaps against her forehead.

“Smash?” Growls an excited Candela.

“You’re on your own, I’m getting more wine,” Blanche says, rolling off the couch.

“Smaaaaaassssh?!”

“Oh god, what have I done.”

The resultant clash of titanic egos threatens to destroy the living as Candela gets _way_ too into the competition, and Spark meets her in sheer enthusiasm. It gets bad enough that Blanche has to make an executive decision to break out the papers and hand out blunts of her Dad’s stash to calm the pair the fuck down. This involves bodily wrestling the controllers out of various hands. This only after standing in front of the TV, shaking what pokegod gave them had no result.

Thankfully, the pair are too interested in having a good time to argue once the goods are dispensed.

“So… why does your dad have the best weed this side of the mountains?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Spark,” Blanche starts slowly, as if speaking to a particularly slow child, “but my father is a colossal hippie.”

“He walks around in _crocs_ for god’s sake,” mutters Candela.

“So that’s it? He smokes up because he’s a hippie?”

“Nnnnnot entirely. He once dated this woman and, well, end result he gets regular samples from a far-too-amicable breakup.”

“Far too amicable,” mutters Candela.

“More than he smokes,” continues Blanche, as if they were going somewhere with it. But they don’t, and Spark takes that as the answer. Minutes pass, and when Blanche gets up to get another bottle of wine, Candela nudges Spark.

He looks up. 

Their eyes lock.

“No items,”

“Fox only,”

“Final Destination!”  
“Final Destination!”

Blanche comes back to find the two side by side, hunkered over their controllers, and madly fighting the stock battle on what they have always held is the most boring level in the game. Occasionally one will shoulder the other, or an elbow is thrown, but for the most part, they are both far too into the game to pay attention to Blanche. 

_Ten stock, are you kidding me?_

Rolling their eyes, they clamber over the back of the couch and sit on its back, legs spread so that their feet hook around either competitor’s waist. Other than Spark shifting into the “grip” and Candela sparing a second during a respawn to give their foot a squeeze, they go ignored. 

They pull the cork out with their teeth and take a swig from the bottle. Only then do they think to make sure it’s one of theirs and not their father’s. Thankfully it’s not and they take another pull. When the pair finally get down to the final stock and somehow manage to double KO each other, Blanche cackles gleefully.

“Rema-”

“Ohhhh no you don’t!” With more strength that you could credit, Blanche hauls the pair back with her feet. To be fair, they don’t resist the pull, Candela in particular falling back to lay her cheek against Blanche’s thigh. The ghosting of her hot breath through the leotard does things to Blanche’s insides and they bite their lip. Spark seems far less certain so they thrust the bottle at him.

“Drink up, new kid.”

“You’d think that after four months, you’d stop calling me that,” he grumbles, but doesn’t refuse the bottle. A long pull later, he hands it off to Candela.

“Nah,” she teases as she takes the bottle. “You’ll always be the new kid to us.”

Blanche’s fingers find their way into her hair even as she knocks back the bottle, kicking up her legs onto Spark’s lap. Blanche isn’t sure he even notices that he’s rested a hand on one, too interested in a final drag that leaves smoke wreathing around him like the most 70s porn shot in existence. Good. They work their fingers through Candela’s hair and reach for Spark’s head. He sees her coming and instinctively leans into graceful fingers, letting nails trace along his scalp.

“Mmnn,” growls Candela, pawing ineffectually at the air in his direction. But she’s too content with the work of Blanche’s fingers to more emphatically communicate whatever she wanted to Spark.

“What’s that, Candela?” Blanche purrs, as Candela nuzzles into her thigh. “Did you want to paw through Spark’s hair too?”

Two pairs of eyes widen, but nothing is said.

“Ah? No smart response, Spark? Am I to take that as a lack of resistance?” They run their fingers down to the nape of his neck and drag their nails back up from the bare skin, grinning at the shiver they send through him. When no answer is forthcoming and his eyes close in relaxation they growl,

“Good,” and drag their fingers into fists in the pairs hair, drawing them inexorably closer, even as they gasp and their eyes fly open.

“Now, kiss.”

In their defense, they don’t mash their faces together, as much as they want to. As breathing speeds up and hitches, and tongues wet lips, Blanche lets go of their hair but applies gentle, encouraging pressure with their thighs. A moment stretches into impossible lengths and, just as Blanche is about to throw their hands up in exasperation, Candela lunges forward. Her legs curl underneath her as she grabs Spark by the lapels and drags him into the kiss she’s been aching to deliver.

Blanche’s lips curl up in a cat-in-the-cream smile and they lean back as Spark’s hands come up hesitantly, before finding places on Candela’s hip, in her hair. It’s some work to extricate a leg from underneath Spark, especially when Candela climbs up onto his lap, but they manage. They save the tipping wine bottle, too, and take a swig before wandering off to find their bedroom.

* * *

Spark’s breath is hot in her ear as she sucks at his necks and her teeth graze his skin. The groan that lifts from deep within him makes her rock into him, feeling his hardness between her legs. He tastes of salt and ozone and she wants _more_ , more of him, of his taste. Her hands find their way up his shirt and caress the skin and abs she can’t wait to kiss and lick her way down. His drift lower as he finds his confidence to cup her butt, squeezing and pulling her down into him. 

The pressure against her mound throws a gasp from her lungs and she kisses her way back up his neck and along his chin to claim his mouth again. As desperate and passionate as their kiss is, it pleases her to no end that Spark is a good kisser. Sensitive and plush lips and just the right amount of tongue.

The things she could do with that tongue. The things she is going to _get_ that tongue to do before the night is over, if she’s lucky. Heat pulses wonderfully between her legs in anticipation and she has to break away, leaning back to strip out of her sweater. Spark’s eyes are saucers, and his hands trace a path from behind, up her abs to cup at her breasts. The gentle passing sends shivers up from every spot on her body where his fingers touch until he can see stiffened nipples through the sports bra.

He lowers his head to kiss at her neck and Candela leans back, bracing herself with her arms behind her, exposing herself and making it quite clear what she wants him to do. Wet kisses find their way down her neck, across her collarbone and over her chest. A breathy moan and legs wrapping around him lets Spark know he is doing exactly what she wants of him. One broad, strong hand presses into her breast, kneading gently, while the other pulls her closer into him, crushing her heat to him.

Supported by him and her legs, Candela wraps her arms around Spark, running her hands and kissing through his hair, even as that soft mouth kisses all over and a thumb brushes a nipple playfully, sending lovely shocks through her, into a core that wants more, _more_. In his arms, she leans back again, loving the feel of his lips as he kisses down defined abs and sharp ribs. Teeth graze at her hipbones and she wants to rip her pants off, his pants off and-

“It’s occurred to me,” a voice like cold velvet murmurs from across the room, “that my bed here can hold three.”

Blanche stands in the doorway to the hall, arms braced on either frame, leaning forward unsteadily. The pose causes the too-big shirt they’re wearing to ride up, almost revealing the nothing Candela is sure they’re wearing underneath. Their hair is out of the severe ponytail it is normally held in and it cascades down their front, covering skin daringly revealed by the shirt’s massive V-neck.

They turn, and call over their shoulder, “It would be _so_ good to have a couple of bodies to warm it with me.”

Candela straightens, looks at Spark. Spark, whose eyes are wide in confusion, glee and terror. Her heart, already pounding and enflamed, melts. She unwraps herself from him and stands, taking his hand. She pulls him to his feet, holding him close. Another kiss delivered, this one soft and long, welcoming, encouraging.

“Come on, new kid,” she whispers, leading him to Blanche’s bedroom.

“I, uh, um. I’ve never, uh…”

“It’s ok,” she murmurs running a thumb over his knuckles, “we’ll take care of you.”

Spark follows her into the dark of the hallway.

* * *

Blanche is waiting, sprawled on the bed, rubbing smooth legs together and squirming in a way that erases any care Spark had about what was ever in their pants. They roll over as Candela approaches, taking her by the jeans. They unbuckle them with a short, rough tug that yanks them down unceremoniously, taking red panties with them. Kisses line the inside of Candela’s thighs as she draws Spark in close behind her, leading his hands up her front and pressing his fingertips under her bra.

He takes the hint and strips it up and over her head, only for her to reach back and pull his face into her neck.

“Fun fact about Blanche,” she whispers, running fingers through both lovers’ hair. “They have an oral fixation, don’t they?”

Candela presses Blanche’s mouth to her mound and nearly goes to jelly with the heat and ravenous tongue. Spark holds her though, cupping and kneading at breasts, and she remembers he’s still clothed. Clumsy hands try to undo a belt behind her back, even as she pants and whines at Blanche’s too-keen ministrations. 

When her frustration becomes too much and the swearing starts, Blanche stops and reaches behind her to help, laughing softly under their breath. Candela turns and yanks Spark’s hoodie up and over his head. It all happens with him scrabbling, trying to help with his pants and shirt at the same time. No sooner is he in boxers than Candela’s hand is down them, groping for his cock. When her fingers wrap around it, they both groan, both in very similar need.

She tries to lead him onto the bed by it, but she forgets the jeans still around her ankles and how close the edge is to her knees. The fall backwards is anything but graceful but Blanche catches her, albeit barely and laughingly. They kiss her sheepish mouth, letting Candela taste herself on their lips, while Spark goes about tugging the jeans off completely and spreading her legs. Candela looks down at him as that clever tongue makes its way up slippery thighs to her cleft and when it finally finds the spot where Candela’s wanted him for ages. 

Blanche’s small hands find her breasts and work familiar magic and soon her legs begin to tremble. Through heavily lidded eyes she looks down to find Spark stroking himself, the head of his cock slick with pre. 

“Nuh-uh. Up here, get. Now.” 

Her legs close on his head and draw him up onto the bed, Blanche releasing her to help drag the boy in. They get him in and his boxers off, leaving him splayed on his back. In the process, Blanche roughly and firmly positions Candela’s unsteady form above his face, letting her lower herself onto Spark’s continuing ministrations.

As he slides fingers into her and sucks at her nub, he’s suddenly reminded of what Candela said about Blanche’s “oral fixation.” The warmth and wetness is better than anything he’s ever felt in his life.

It’s not clear who comes first, a shuddering mass of limbs and need, but that’s alright. Blanche wriggles their way between them, and with a now-pulsing need of their own, goes to work getting what’s owed them. Too many sticky and shaking hands grab at their shirt, before stripping it off and laying them bare. They’re pressed between dark and pale, forming a perfect gradient as hot lips close on neck and nipples. They can feel Spark hardening between their butt-cheeks and Candela’s slippery slit grind at it. 

Spark’s world goes white when they grind back and slip his cock into Candela’s wetness and Candela’s hands grip roughly at Blanche’s smooth softness. She wets her fingers in their mouth and, as she begins to ride Spark, find’s Blanche’s most sensitive spot, tracing light, teasing circles that drag out undignified moans. Her fingers come back sticky and, moving her face right beside Blanche’s, she feeds them each a pair to taste. Then her mouth is claimed by thin, needy lips and _fuck_ she can still taste Spark in them, on their tongue.

Strong hands grab hold of her hips and pull her down _hard_ , filling her so she cries out and leans into Blanche, dragging taught nipples down their back. Blanche slides forward, thinking to turn, but Spark is already between their legs and then his mouth envelopes them. Blanche groans, taking his head in their hand and presses down into wet heat and a quickly-learning tongue. 

The mass of flesh and sex continues until none of them can move, joints and parts too sensitive aching. Then by some unspoken word, they curl up around Blanche and pass into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you there'd be porn.
> 
> For those of you interested in the chant, queue [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ruHwDL7Zb8I) up and match Can-de-la with Rass-e-ra.


	6. Chapter 6

Dawn comes slowly in the long days of winter and it spreads its downy wings particularly carefully in the Blanche/Candela household. But eventually that soft touch, filtered through grey clouds, of sunlight flits across Candela’s eyelids and she twitches. Blinks awake. Winces at the brightness and buries her face into a pillow, tightening her grip around Blanche and lacing her fingers through-

Her eyes fly open.

Right.

That.

Him.

Um.

Her fingers lace with Sparks, resting on Blanche’s belly while their arms remain crossed across their chest. The man’s face is half-hidden by the curve of Blanche’s shoulder, of the pillow, but it’s there, peaceful, all the same.

Her lips form a thin line as she slowly extricates herself from the tangle of limbs, her mind slowly kicking itself into function after that jolt of realization. She manages to slip from the bed, find some boxers and slide Blanche’s (really, her) shirt over her head. Then with the silent stumbling of a cat high on nip, she makes her way to the kitchen.

Grounds get put in a filter and jammed into a machine. Water is poured and buttons pushed and after that great trial, Candela manages to wonder about maybe making toast. 

Not much else manages to pass through her muddled, fuzzy mind. She’s just a shade off a hangover, in that state of of maybe still drunk. A few minutes more and she’d probably be cognizant of the need to gulp several litres of water, but that’s a few minutes off, and coffee is about to hit her system, which is almost as good. A few moments of nothing later, the drip slows to the point where Candela can pour herself some while clumsily swapping a cup into the drip. There is only mild scalding. Win.

Then she’s turning, catching on to the sound of someone leaving the bedroom and suddenly it’s time to engage with the world again, because out of that hallway shuffles six feet of pale, blue-jean wearing, blond-haired Adonis. Wearing the expression of a particularly hungover college student. Spark manages to make his way to the sink, stick his face under it and turn the tap on to gulp at the flow.

When he finally rises, wiping his face, his gaze focuses on Candela, goes shifty and settles on the coffee cup under the drip. 

“Oh hey, coffee.”

Candela watches silently as he tries to negotiate the swap of pot for cup and feels faintly relieved at his mild scalding. At least she isn’t worse off than this clown.

Then they’re staring at each other, sipping coffee. 

“Well,” ventures Spark, “that happened.”

“Yup.”

Sip.

Sip.

“So, uh… is this where we talk out our-”

“I am neither drunk nor sober enough for this conversation right now, Spark.”

“Oh.” He looks crestfallen and Candela melts a little, hating herself all the while. So she crosses the short space between them, and tilts her chin up enough to kiss his cheek.

“But I’ve got no regrets. You?”

The slow dawning of delight that plays across his face is almost too much. “Nah.”

And so she settles in beside him, sipping her coffee. It is a companionable silence they fall into, and Spark manages to bury his antsiness under his hangover pretty functionally. But eventually…

“Blanche sleeps like a vampire.”

“Yup.”

“That’s weird, right? I feel like that’s weird.”

“Yup.”

“Kay. Wh-”

“Spark. It is nine o’clock and all that’s between me and a hangover is four glasses of water or a bloody mary. So unless you feel like making either of those a reality…”

Her growl is threatening, and she expects him to back down, crestfallen again. But he surprises her, grinning slyly.

“How about I do one better?”

* * *

When Blanche finally follows their nose out of the bedroom, she finds Candela reclined into spark, who is leaned back on the couch, hand on a slight pouch of a belly. They stare at them for a long moment, piecing things back together, before nodding to themselves contentedly and padding into the kitchen. 

Candela finds her on the floor, slowly jamming a sandwich made of pancakes, eggs and bacon into her mouth. 

“Get off the floor, babe.”

“Ahrrrn.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full and get off the floor, babe.”

“Oo cah teh me wha-” a hacking cough as a piece of something apparently goes down the wrong hole and Candela smiles superiorly, holding out a helping hand. Blanche looks at it suspiciously, trying to keep their mouth shut around the gobs of food jammed into it. They let themselves be hauled to their feet and guided to the sofa.

Spark jams himself into the corner to make way for the pair, an attempt at courtesy that Candela immediately takes advantage of, sprawling across both lovers to curl up into him. 

As she looks up into his eyes, aware of them tracking down her chest, she says,

“You can make with the words now, Romeo.” 

“Oh, uh…”

“Take your time, I understand that thinking is hard,” murmurs Blanche.

“Hey!”

“Maybe focus on thinking instead of my tits.”

“They are nice tits though, dear,” murmurs Blanche again.

A cross look. “Whose side are you on, again?”

The remains of the obscene sandwich-burrito thing are shoved down Blanche’s throat and fingers are licked thoroughly, to the point where that darting tongue cause the others to shift uncomfortably.

Then that cat-in-the-cream smile returns.

“Ours.”

* * *

“So, we’re... what, and ongoing threesome?”

“If last night will be ongoing, I am seriously going to regret shoving Candela at you.”

“Well, not like-”

“Blanche has been very kindly clear on her position as polyamorous and I figure…”

“Oh wow, you go warm when you blush. Hey, ow!”

“She means that she’s willing to be with both of us, Spark. Though I admit we have hardly asked your thoughts on the whole deal.”

“Uh, I don’t know, it was kinda my firs-”

“Oh bullshit, don’t try to pull that shit again after last night. First time my ass.”

“What? It _was_ my first threesome!”

“Oh for-!”

“Ack! Watch the elbow! But as I was _going_ to say, I’ve, um. Never had a girlf- uh, partners? Before?”

“Somehow, I fail to believe that.”  
“Somehow, I don’t.”

“I mean, this is a ton of fun, and my initial thought is, like, ‘hell yeah!’ but, um. This is a lot to take in, and, uh-”

He goes silent.

“Spark.”

Hands cover his.

“Take your time.”

“..aight.”

More silence, and the slow shifting of bodies.

“Hey so uh, at some point can I get my boxers back?”

“Mmm, maybe if you take them?”

“And _that_ is my cue to make use of the shower while you two debauch yourselves.”

* * *

Debauchery is had.

Aching bodies and heads slow it down so it’s languorous and shuddering instead of impassioned and hip-bruising.

* * *

And wearying. Candela snoozes on the couch while Spark showers and plods home, citing a need to check up on his pokemon. Blanche watches him from the balcony, finger thoughtfully tapping at their lip as he trudges down the sidewalk. They note his slow straightening, and the eager pace that he sets before long. The young man shifts from hungover to functioning human in a remarkably short space, and they warm with the thought of pawning him off on Candela more often.

Still, his dedication to his pokemon is irregular. The balls should keep the beasts in perfect stasis, even Spark must be aware of that. They wonder for a moment if he hasn’t the funds to support them all, and then dismisses it. He has to know that their dad would offer free enclosures at the first sign of need. Spark is absent minded, but not proud or stupid. 

Candela on the other hand… 

Blanche turns back towards the apartment, slipping their slim frame through the narrow gap they open in the sliding door. The scent of eggs, bacon and too much ketchip fills their nose and they allow themself to be dragged from their objective to scrounge for some leftovers. They’re not Spark and grease is a fantastic hangover solution. 

They spend some time before a still-cooling oven, popping bits of bacon and toast into their mouth, thinking. Remembering. They’re not as taken with the boy as Candela is, but they know his scent, more intimately now than they ever have. And there’s something… wild about his scent. They’ve never been to a farm, but they get the feeling that’s what he smells like. The spaces on the outskirts of them. Where pokemon that aren’t quite tame live. And they think he might smell like that all the time.

A nose twitches. Not just hers, but Candela’s too, as they’re sitting on the couch and pressing their frame up against the larger woman’s. Heat blooms across the back of their neck as their lover breathes out against them, wrapping muscled arms around them. There’s a blanket over the back of the couch and Blanche pulls it down over the pair of them, snuggling into Candela, basking in the warmth.

As they drift into sleep, they remember a boy jogging, almost embracing the cold they shun. They have their theories, though they will keep them to themself for now.

* * *

His place is a small riot within minutes of his return, as some pokemon poke and snuffle at him with interest and others back up, hissing in distaste.

“Aw come on you guys, they’re not that bad. They’re not bad at all!’

Spark figures he really needs to get that shower down. Maybe introduce Candela and Blanche to the crew, because right now he’s pretty sure all the hissing is from being doused in…

Well. It’s impolite to speak of around baby pokemon. His pichu is wary of his discarded shirt as it is.

“Can I shower? I’ll do laundry after and you all can be oh-so-happy about the disappearance of the only evidence of me getting laid in the past who-the-fuck knows. 

“Do you all even care? Hell, I don’t know how half of you reproduce,” he grumbles, shucking his clothes in the direction of his hamper as he shuffles his frame into the tiny bathroom and tinier shower. 

Head canted at an angle, he manages to get some cleaning done, scrubbing at himself with the loufa, ignoring the cries of pokemon that want out, or into the shower, or otherwise want attention. He has way too many electric types to let them in here with him. Though, he’s pretty sure his next egg is going to be an Evee. He’s not sure why, but he’s rarely wrong. 

Towelling off and sorting through clothing to find something clean, he keys a radio on, nodding his head along aimlessly to the music. He doesn’t pay much attention to the news and ad breaks, especially as the larger beasts in his collection are indicating that they want _out_. Sighing dramatically, he summons them back to balls and takes the whole lot to the park. 

At least when they get back, there will be an enormous cuddle puddle for him to nap in. 

What transmission crackle and pop through the radio are ignored.

* * *

“...violent crime to mark the beginning of this holiday season.

“Police report that the assailant hurled the pokeball at the victim’s face, causing significant bruising, and also putting the pokemon in an ideal situation to aid the thug in beating the victim into unconciousness. Apparently, the assailant then made off with the victim’s entire line of pokeb-”

Willow turns the TV off, frowning. Before him is a newspaper from last month’s trip to the city over, which has a very similar story buried in its pages. He takes a sip of cold coffee, not registering the disgusting taste of the sludge beyond its facility as a caffeine delivery vehicle. Still frowning, he lifts his hands. Hesitates. Presses fingers to the bridge of his nose. And then begins to type, bring up search engines and crawlers.

_Happy friggin’ Holidays_ , he says to himself silently as he chases down leads he does not want to.


End file.
